Blood Brothers
by Silver Spider
Summary: The Joker tried tearing them apart, but what did Jason care? They were not his family. Hadn't been for a long time. Except maybe the madman knew something he didn't... Spoilers for current 'Death of a Family' arc. COMPLETE
1. Part I

_**Author's Note:**_ This two-shot is not part of my usual Wayne Brothers collection, but if you like those, you'll probably like this one. Takes place in the New 52 'verse with heavy spoilers to the current 'Death of a Family' arc, particularly the 'Red Hood and the Outlaws' and 'Teen Titans' issues. For those who aren't following, in the New 52 Tim and Jason are a lot closer than before, frequently showing that they work together off screen, and even calling one another friend and brother. There have been a few hints that the second title is more than just words...

**Blood Brothers**

**By:****Silver ****Spider**

**Part I**

All Jason could feel was rage. There was nothing really new there; the anger was part of his being since well before his first death, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should be feeling something else, something good. Hope? Gratitude? Something! But there was no one left to direct a single positive feeling towards.

Not Dick, who was standing off to the side with his arms crossed wearing a look that was somewhere between pity and guilt and even, Jason could swear, jealousy. _Good_, the younger man thought bitterly. _He's been with you way longer. _You_ should have been there! _You_ should have protected him!_

Not Damian, who kept smirking and sending snide remarks like, "Rejects! This explains everything!" It took all of Jason's will to hold himself back from punching the boy in that smart mouth, ten-year-old or not.

And certainly not Bruce, whose unflinching stoicism was begging for that same beating and a lot more for everything else. He _should_ have been uncomfortable, going on about how he should have told them sooner, begging for their forgiveness, but instead all he said was:

"Did you hear me, Jason?"

"I heard you," the youth bit back and began rolling up his sleeve.

Dick stepped forward. "You don't..."

"I 'don't have to'?" the younger man whirled on him. "Is that what you're gonna say, dick-head? After all the shit that lunatic put us through, put the kid through, I 'don't have to'?"

"This isn't a small blood transfusion," Dick went on with a steadiness that made Jason's teeth grind together. "It's major surgery, and with the trauma your body already suffered..."

"No," Jason cut him off. "Dying? That was traumatic. Everything else? Cakewalk. So unless you tell me you have a better donor on hand..." That one was directed at Bruce.

"No," the man replied calmly. "You're the best we're going to get."

"Then get on with it, old man."

Later, when he was on the operating table, arm outstretched with a needle – Jason hated needles – poking into his vein, he turned his head to glare at the man above him. The mask that would deliver the anesthetic was just about to be lowered, but first he said.

"When we wake up... when _he_ wakes up... _I'm_ the one that tells him."

It wasn't a request, but Bruce nodded, and again Jason felt fury coarse through him. It had _not_ been a God-damn request! He turned to the side slightly, just in time to catch a glimpse of the teen on the table to his left before Bruce gently but firmly turned his head back to center. Jason caught his hand.

"It's not... laughing gas, is it?" Bruce gave him a look. "Yeah, okay. Shit's not strong enough anyway."

The mask came down.

* * *

When he awoke, more than eighteen hours later, it was Dick was by his side. The drugs must have worn off a little too soon because they were still in the cave. Jason was cold and numb, though what part of it was from the anesthetic and which from the nature of the environment, he didn't know. His mouth and lips felt dry, but he managed to get out:

"I wanna see him."

"In a little bit, Jay." There was a vague sensation of Dick's hand on his shoulder. "You both did really well, but you need to rest."

The second time he woke it was upstairs. He was in a bedroom, and it took Jason a moment to realize that it was the one that had been his when he'd lived at the manor. At any other moment he might have felt something about it, but at the moment he just felt tired, like his limbs were made of lead. Maybe another few hours was not a bad idea...

The third time he was better. Still weak, but he forced himself to roll out of bed and holding onto the rolling poll that held the IV drip still attached to his arm, and managed to make it out of the room. He was grateful someone had bothered to dress him in a pair of sweatpants and an old faded AC/DC t-shirt, but there was no one in the hallway. He was also grateful it didn't take him long to find Tim's room.

The sight of the teen made bile rise in the back of his throat, but Jason swallowed, closed the door, and sat heavily in a large chair by the bed. There were far too many tubes and IVs sticking out of the boy, and he looked so unnaturally pale. Jason supposed he should have been grateful that he was even alive with the amount of toxins that had been pumped through his system. Whether he would stay that way was still up in the air.

The door behind him swished open again, but judging by the weight of the footsteps, it wasn't Dick this time.

"You should be in bed," Bruce said evenly. "You'll pull out the stitches."

In the corner of his vision Jason could see him reaching out, maybe to help him up, maybe to simply put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't care about the intent. The snarl that sounded more animal than human ripped from his throat, and he saw with satisfaction that the older man had frozen in place.

"Don't," Jason growled. "If you touch me – touch either of us – I swear to God, I'll kill you."

That didn't make him flinch, only sigh and walk around to the foot of the bed to face him. He sat down heavily, hangs hanging between his knees. Jason glanced up to Tim's face to see if the movement had disturbed him, but regardless of his fear – or hope – there was no change. His fists clenched.

"How long?" His voice sounded softer than he thought it should.

Bruce sighed. "Jason..."

"How long have you known!" This time he spat venom. "Damn it, old man, you owe us! After all this crap..."

"It doesn't matter."

That tone drove Jason crazy. It was the I-know-better tone, the one that had made him act out just to prove he could, to prove the boundaries that Bruce had placed there were pointless. Maybe he'd been right then, but he wasn't now, no way, and that inability to admit fault made Jason wish he had the strength for violence.

"It matters to me!" He hissed. "Next time you say that, next time you _think_ it, pretend it's... it's Damian. Pretend someone telling him you're dead and then yelling 'psyche!'. How long, Bruce? Just... just tell me."

The man took a deep breath. "Since shortly after your... death. When Tim first started looking into Batman."

Jason was stunned. "That's years ago! You've known all this time and said nothing! Why?!"

He shook his head. "Too many reasons. You were gone, Jason, so there was no good reason to tell him, to cause him pain. And then you weren't, and..."

"You should've talked him out of it!" The young man exploded. "After what happened to me... how could you let him put on the suit!? What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Jason..."

"Get out." It came out low through gritted teeth. "I mean it, Bruce. Get the fuck out. Now!"

He was only slightly surprised when the man actually left. With some effort, Jason scooted the large chair closer to the bed, and tool the teen's left hand. It was cold and clammy and completely unresponsive.

Later, Roy called.

"Dude, you need a pickup or what?"

"I'm fine, Arsenal."

"You sure? Friends don't leave friends alone with their psycho families."

The use of the word made him tense, but Jason let it slide. Roy didn't know, and Jason wasn't sure he wanted to tell him unless he had to. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Just a little banged up. Don't cry into your pillow on my account or anything."

On the other line, Roy snorted. "Jerk. How's the teen wonder? The titans keep asking. They wanted to fly out to Gotham and break down the door, but I talked 'em out of it. Convinced 'em kid's in good hands. Not that they'd know which door to break down."

"Yeah." Reflexively Jason squeezed the cold fingers he was holding. "He's in good hands. Where are you?"

"Heading back to the ship. Kori's there now."

"Alright, see you in a few days. Maybe."

He fiddled with the phone for a few more minutes after hanging up, then called Kori. The alien woman's reaction was, if anything, more emotional than Roy's, but Jason let it slide. He was too tired to talk anyone else out of fussing over him.

"Can I ask you something?" He said after she'd finally stopped.

"Of course, Jason. Anything."

"Your sister, Kom. Do you..." He swallowed. "Do you forgive her?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in the woman's voice.

"Really?"

"Really. What is this about, Jason?"

"Nothing. Thanks, Kori."

* * *

That night, Tim woke up screaming. Muscles locked tight, even as Jason tried to hold him and calm him, the teen screamed till his voice was gone.

"Joker..." he coughed. "He... I... killed you."

"Bullshit," Jason spat, holding both of his wrists in a firm grip to prevent the boy from hurting himself. "You don't believe anything that lunatic said. Hear me, kid? Not one damn thing. It's all shit."

The boy's body went rigid, then he vomited up a string of bile that smelled like acid and medication and passed out again.

* * *

He woke up again a solid day later. Considering it consisted of a barely audible request for water, Jason wasn't terribly impressed, but it wasn't violent screaming so he was relieved. Eight hours after the first time, when the teen actually opened his eyes, he was already there with a cup of crushed ice. Tim took it gratefully but then wrinkled his nose.

"You stink, man."

For a moment everything felt normal. Tim was just Tim; Red Robin, the Replacement, the ridiculously smart know-it-all kid who should have been at some fancy school or somewhere on Wall Street or in Washington. Anywhere but here. Jason gave him a half-hearted glare and didn't point out that he'd thrown up on him. Instead he said:

"Can't tell me you smell anything with all that crap in your system."

The teen made a face, giving him an almost sympathetic look, as if _he'd_ been the one at death's door for half the week.

"That's just how funky you smell, bro."

The title, thrown around so often and carelessly in the past, sent a pang through Jason, but he didn't show it, choosing to instead send the teen another very typical glare.

"You're kinda ripe yourself, kid."

"I've been in bed for like... ever. What's your excuse?"

"Babysitting your half-dead ass."

That earned him a frown, and he could practically see the wheel's in the boy's head turning, trying to gain momentum and work past the haze of medication. He tilted his head slightly, still regarding Jason in puzzlement.

"You're still here."

"So?" The young man blanched. "There somewhere else I'm supposed t' be?"

"Umm... wherever it is you usually go? Since when do you volunteer to stay at the manor longer than you have to?"

"Someone's feeling snarky." But he squeezed his hand and was rewarded with a light but certain squeeze back. "Go to sleep, kid. I'll still be here."

"'kay." The whole conversation must have worn him out. Tim closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows. "Be here. Just shower too."

* * *

He stayed asleep for the next day, but that was alright. Jason did as he was told too, washed and even ate the sandwich and gulped down the water that appeared like magic on the nightstand. None of the others bothered him, no doubt on Bruce's orders. He was dozing the chair when Barbara came to see him. She walked slowly around and leaned into the same spot on the edge of the bed Bruce had occupied earlier.

Jason took one look at her and raised a brow. "They told you."

Barbara nodded. "Dick did."

"And you really didn't know." He guessed. "Three years as Oracle and poking your nose into everyone's business and something like this just happened to slip through your fingers."

The red-haired woman glowered at him. "Believe it or not, Jason, you're not the center of everyone's universe." He laughed at that. "The world doesn't revolve around you. Or Tim. Or any of us."

"Yeah? Bruce sure cared enough to cover it up, and don't you dare tell me he didn't. A lie by omission is still a God damn lie."

"Okay." She conceded. "Then be mad at Bruce. Add it to the list. But don't be mad at Tim. You could do a lot worse than having him for a brother."

_Finally!_

Jason snorted, shaking his head again. "You know this whole time, no one's ever come out and said it. Not once."

"Not even you?" She ventured a guess, then smiled gently when he didn't say anything. "Jay, it's okay. After everything's that's happened... the... the Joker and... Tim's a great kid. You know he is."

She stopped, and this time Jason looked – really looked – at her. Barbara, always so pretty, now just looked exhausted, which wasn't surprising considering everything they had all been through.

"How you doing, Babs?" he asked carefully.

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Not good."

The Joker had meant to rip their families apart. For Jason, who had been so very sure there was nothing left the Joker could do to him after his death, it was through Tim, who had not only become his only connection to the vigilante group in recent months but also turned out to be the last living biological family he had. But Tim had not exactly volunteered for the dubious honor.

For Barbara, a far more painful betrayal had come directly from her younger brother, James Jr., who had set up not only her, but their estranged mother.

"You could do a lot worse," she repeated, turning slightly to look at the still-sleeping boy.

Jason nodded absently. "What about the kid?" She gave him a questioning look. "Think he can do worse? 'Cause I kinda think he can do a hell of a lot better."

"That's really up to you, isn't it?" Barbara pointed out reasonably.

Jason didn't answer.


	2. Part II

_**Author's Note:** _Gyah, this is super late, I know. Work has been killing me lately. I don't think I got everything I wanted to across when I first concieved the idea for this fic, but I hope you like it anyway. P.S. in case you can't tell by the dialog... I've just discovered _Supernatural_ ^^;; Enjoy!

**Part II**

"Kid, you're making me twitchy."

Another day and a half had passed before Jason actually worked up the courage to have that particular revealing conversation. His guidance in the mater came mostly from Tim's ability to stay awake for any prolonged period of time and how well he managed to process information regarding recent events.

When he found him sitting up in bed looking intently a pile of papers scattered on the sheets in front of him, Jason knew it was time.

Tim barely glanced at him. "I'm doing research."

"You should be resting."

"Later." He waved him off and looked back down at the papers in front of him. "I need to know how the Joker got all that dirt on us. I mean, the only person with this much knowledge is… well, Bruce."

"Timmy." That made the teen look up. Jason almost never used the diminutive and probably never looked so serious. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and pushed the papers aside. "We need to talk."

The boy quieted looking at him intently. "About what happened with the Joker? Jay, it wasn't your fault. I know how… sensitive this all was, especially to you. And for all my smart mouth, I know you were stalling, not really attacking me or anything."

"Yeah." Jason tried not to wince at the memory, especially knowing what he did now. "I might not have been able to figure out a way out of there, but I knew you would. You and your freakishly big brain." Tim grinned. "But… that's not what I wanna talk about."

"Okay." He got really quite, pensive. Jason couldn't blame him, considering he'd probably just made it sound like something worse than the Joker and sincerely hoped Tim wouldn't end up thinking that. He took a breath.

"What he did, the way he targeted us… we know it was all about family. Hell, he even got James Jr. involved."

"I know. He…"

"Tim." It was a warning tone, definitely 'big brother' worthy, and Jason briefly wondered if he'd ever get to really practice it.

"Okay. Sorry. He targeted families…"

Jason nodded. "But with a particular interest for actual blood. He got at Barbara through her mom and brother, went at Damian through Bruce. And… and he took us on together. Then there was that 'Cain vs. Able' comment…"

Tim frowned, as if he hadn't seen that pattern before. If he truly hadn't, Jason had no doubt that he would have given a few days to breath. They were all running on fumes of adrenaline, caffeine, and medication, but Tim might have been one of the hardest hit.

"He attacked us together." He repeated. "_Not_ because I'm the only one here you talk to." The older stayed silent, and the boy swallowed. "So… we're related? Like… for real, not just in the 'brothers in arms' kind of way."

Jason didn't trust himself to say more than: "Just the first half."

Tim blinked, looking down at his hands fisted in the sheets in his lap. The older youth had no idea if it was a good or bad sign that he was not freaking out as much as he himself had. Or maybe it hadn't sunk in yet. He really hoped that was all it was, because the alternative was that the boy was so disgusted he couldn't even look at him.

"Brothers." He said finally, as if trying the word out. "Wow…"

"Understatement." Jason agreed. "I don't even know how…"

"Oh, I do," Tim interrupted, finally – finally! – looking at him again. "Purely technically, I mean. I knew I was adopted when I was a baby. Closed adoption and all. My folks never made a big deal about it, so neither did I."

Jason nodded, trying to push away the slight sensation of irrational hurt that Tim had apparently not thought of his biological family at all. Then again, he had only a vague memory of his mother's rounded belly as she screeched at the cops for taking his father away. She went to the hospital alone and came out alone, and it was never spoken of within the house.

"So," Tim asked slowly and held up one of the papers from the bed. "Is that why I'm sharing half your liver and then some?"

"Exaggeration." What was it with him and single-word sentences today?

"No, it's really not."

Jason sighed. "I was the best match, yeah. With the amount of crap that lunatic pumped into your system, there's a solid bet you'd be half way to the pearly gates by now. Anyway, blood comes back and livers regenerate. You're the smart one; you oughtta know that. Just means I'll cut back on the booze for a little while."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I've never seen you drink more than a beer."

"See? No loss then."

The teen smiled. "Thanks, Jay."

He wanted to outright come out and ask if Tim wasn't disappointed. If he hadn't wished it was Dick who'd turned out to be his blood instead. He didn't seem to mind, but Jason was still too much of a coward to ask, in case the answer was different. He cleared his throat.

"Alright, 'nough of this chick flick moment." He got up and collected the papers off the bed, dumping the stack on the table across the room despite Tim's protest. "You rest up."

He was about to move to walk to the door. It had gone as best as Jason had expected – better even – but he could only deal with so much emotion at once before be felt like he was going to snap. But when he made a move towards the door, Tim caught his arm.

"You're not leaving, right?" the teen sounded almost pleading. "You have stuff to tell me. About... about you, about... I don't know... everything."

Jason stilled, then shook his head. "It's not good stuff, Timmy."

"I don't care."

"Okay." The elder nodded. "Okay, tell you what: you rest, and I'm ganna see if I can get some shut eye in a real bed too. Was really starting to hate that chair."

"But you're not leaving?" Tim double checked.

"No, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Tim seemed to relax. "Go sleep. For real. Don't just leave to yell at Bruce some more." Jason stared at him, and the teen grinned again. "Oh, you yelled at Bruce. No way you found out something like this and _didn't_ yell at him. What? You think about how well I know you. If you're not going to sleep, you'll be doing either that or antagonizing Dick and Damian, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't do either."

"Aren't you obligated to be on my side now?"

"We're all on the same side."

Back in his own room, Jason lay back down and started going over memories he'd happily not recall for the rest of his life. Usually that meant everything pre-Batman. He thought of his mother, of seeing her pregnant, and tried to call to the surface any positive emotions he might have had at the time, but all he remembered was bitterly thinking that it would be just another mouth to feed, a brat to take care of when he already had his mom and her drug problem to deal with. He had certainly _not_ been one of those kids excited at the prospect of siblings.

Which, in hind sight, was totally unfair to Tim who was really kind of all around awesome. Smart, leave-headed, and had his shit together more than most of them despite ending up in this life. Jason wished he could take back the irrational thoughts from years ago. A voice in his head – a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bruce – told him there was no reason to feel guilty, that he'd been just a kid in a really _really_ rough situation himself. Personally Jason didn't feel like it was much of an excuse.

* * *

The next day was okay. Actually it was pretty damn normal and downright domestic to the point that Jason's skin itched. They continued to talk, but mostly it was mundane things:

"How're the Titans?"

"Oh, you know... okay. Roy and Kori?"

"Driving me nuts."

After the field, the topic oddly switched to civilian stuff, which was slightly weird. Neither followed sports – Jason didn't care and Tim had neither the time nor interest – but they discovered that they both had a taste for hardware, and Jason promised to show him Kori's ship while Tim swore he was working on the fastest one-man areal prototype. Their music tastes diverged between classical and metal and rock, but they could agree that pop and country were the worst. Jason was not a morning person, and when Tim nodded sagely in agreement, he tossed a pillow at the teen.

"You just don't sleep. Period."

"I sleep," Tim protested. "It's just also combined with meditation and lots of coffee."

Neither mentioned that it was what Bruce did as well.

Movies, shows, and books were easy, mainly because Jason was pretty honest with his solid sci-fi obsession too, so they could agree on most of it, even if the elder couldn't see the deep philosophy in _Battlestar Galactica_ and absolutely refused to acknowledge that there was anything of worth in the _Star Wars_ prequel trilogy. Tim made a face at him.

"But it completes Lucas' tribute to Joseph Campbell!" He insisted. "It shows that the whole hero's journey was really about Anakin and not Luke."

"You are such a nerd!" Jason accused. "I can't believe we're really related."

"You _knew_ I'm a nerd." Tim rolled his eyes. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Seriously?" Tim gave him something that was definitely a bitch face." You gotta get better material, bro."

Jason grinned, because he _really_ liked hearing that word. All in all, Jason had to admit that this whole 'family' thing wasn't as bad as he remembered from the first few attempts. Maybe – just maybe – they would be alright.

* * *

He didn't remember falling asleep that night, but screaming from the next room woke him. Jason was immediately out of bed, fighting the sudden wave of vertigo that threatened to knock him back down. He was out in the hallway, grasping at the wall for support, just in time to see Bruce and Dick run into Tim's room.

"Hey." His voice sounded hoarse and faint to his own ears. "Hey!"

Neither bothered to answer him, and when he finally made it into the room, it was just in time to see Dick firmly holding Tim's thrashing shoulders down while Bruce was fiddling with the IV, injecting something in it. Jason's stomach dropped.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The man didn't bother answering, and by that time the needle had already gone in. Only a few seconds more and Tim fell back down limply. In that instant, Dick was moving, redirecting his attention entirely on Jason who was feeling the adrenaline suddenly drain from him. He might have fallen if the older man had not caught his arm, steading him.

"Easy, Jay." Dick's voice was firm, but oddly soothing. "Easy. He was having a nightmare, a PTSD episode. We just gave him something to help him sleep, I promise. There's no one in this house that would hurt either of you, you know that."

He did, but the sight of his brother in so much pain... that needle... Jason pushed Dick away and stalked back to his own room. There was nothing else to do, no real threat to protect Tim from. It would have been so much easier if there had been. As it was, no way in hell he was about to explain his own reaction. He sat heavily on the med, arms resting on his knees and face buried in his palms, but it took only a second for a knock to sound on the doorframe.

"Go away, Bruce." He didn't even bother looking up or yelling really, too exhausted for the effort both would take.

"It's Dick." The older man's voice was gentle. "Can I come in?"

Jason didn't bother answering, so he must have taken it as affirmation. Half a moment later the mattress dipped slightly next to him, but Jason still didn't look up.

"It should've been you," he said finally. From the corner of his eye, Dick tilted his head in question. "This thing with Timmy… It should've been you."

Dick shifted, uncomfortable. "I'd be lying if I said I'd mind." He said mildly. "But honestly, I think this could be really good. For both of you."

"Kid got the raw end of the deal," Jason huffed. "Just inherited another crap load of issues."

"I'm sure you can both deal. He _is_ happy to have you for a brother. You're not giving yourself enough credit, Jay."

Jason shook his head, whether to disagree or dispel a thought, he wasn't sure. Because all he could think of when he had seen that needle was his mother and _her_ needles and the desperate need to remember if Catharine had used while pregnant. Nothing about Tim suggested that she had, at least in any significant amounts, but still… People became addicts all on their own even without a predisposition through family history. Jason wanted to call Roy and scream at him, no matter how unfair it was. He wanted to demand he explain what the hell he'd been thinking the first time he touched that crap so that he could make sure those thoughts never passed through Tim's head.

And then there was the Joker, who had oh so colorfully illustrated that Tim had just also inherited Willis Todd and his blood and all the shit that came with it, potentially worse than anything he inherited from Catharine. Jason was just grateful his deadbeat father really had died in prison and would never be able to influence Tim directly. The only bad influence left was himself.

"Is he alright now?" Jason asked quietly.

"He's sleeping, yeah. You should get some sleep too." Jason was already shaking his head, but the older man pushed on. "You're no good to him fried, Jay." He paused. "I can drag a cot into his room for you, if you want."

Jason wanted to protest – because arguing with Dick was second nature by now – but he was exhausted and it made sense. This way, maybe they could both get some rest. Jason lay down on the cot, turned a few times, then reached across the small space between them and took Tim's limp hand. Only then did he allow his eyes to close, but full sleep wouldn't come that night.

The first rays of dawn touched the windowsill and still Jason was only drifting. His eyes opened fully when he felt the hand in his twitch slightly. Tim shifted on the med, wrinkled his nose, but his eyes remained close. Jason thought he hadn't woken at all until the teen spoke softly.

"This is gonna be... not easy," his voice was quiet. "I thought... maybe this time... we'd all be okay."

"We will be." Jason said firmly, and he was surprised how sure he was of that. _I won't let us be anything else._

Still not opening his eyes, Tim smiled. "Tell me a story?"

"What kinda story?"

"I don't know. Something... nice."

"Okay." Jason thought for a moment then took a deep breath. "When you were five, we went to Orlando..."

Tim had not specified that the story had to be real, only something pleasant. Very few things in Jason's life had been 'nice', so he opted for a fantasy. An idyllic story of two brothers growing up together. He told him about a trip to Sea World – where he imagined a five-year-old Tim would have totally geeked out – about Disney where he'd begged him to go on the bumper cars with him and roller coasters even though he'd stuffed himself full of cotton candy and had thrown up immediately after. He talked about all the souvenirs they brought back, including a silly Dark Wing Duck plush toy that he'd later stuffed in Tim's suitcase when he went to camp for the first time.

When he looked back at the teen, he was asleep again, but now there was a small smile on his tired face. Jason smiled as well.

It _was_ a nice fairy tale.


End file.
